


Bondless

by Llewcie



Category: Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Alpha Tristan, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Consensual Heat-sex, Fluff, Hannibal Extended Universe, M/M, Modern Tristhad AU, Nightclub AU, Omega Galahad, Scent Kink, fluffy fluff, mention of past abusive relationship, messy sex, so messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-24 06:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10736178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie
Summary: Galahad runs an Omega club with the best security on the eastern seaboard.  Tuesday nights are Alpha Night, where alphas can pay dearly for the privilege of buying an omega a drink.  Tristan is willing to pay just to look on Galahad from behind the glass security wall.  Galahad is pretty sure he wants more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the Knitting Chat for their enthusiastic and delighted help with creating the club Bondless. This story would not have happened without you all!! And as always, a million deeply grateful thanks to Amelita, my beta. I'm so lucky to have you!! All remaining mistakes are my own <3
> 
> Happy Tristhad Week!!

Galahad stretched across the midnight velvet couch with a total disregard for the street dust on his boots. He lifted his hips up to snuggle his backside into the soft seat, and then relaxed his head back onto the cushions, baring his neck for all to see. Next to him, Gawain snorted into his drink, crossing his long legs at the knee with a demureness the belied his delightfully open nature. They watched the alpha behind the transparent wall, standing perfectly still as the beta staff moved around him like a river.

"Gal, I don't think I've ever seen anyone so riveted in all of my long days."

Galahad smiled softly, rolling his head to the side to stretch out a kink. "What's he doing?"

"Right now he's eating an apple with a… plastic cocktail knife. And staring at you."

"He could be staring at you, Gawain?"

"Nah. He looked at me and I got a cute little nose twitch of a sneer. He's jealous of me, darling. It's you he wants to slip the knot."

Galahad wrinkled his nose at his brother's crudeness. "Not every alpha that stares at me wants to put his knot in my ass. He could just want conversation."

Gawain glanced over at his brother, his long golden braids sweeping over his shoulder. "This one does not want conversation."

"What does he look like?" Galahad could look, and would look later on the security tapes, but for now, he trusted his little brother to capture the alpha in poetry.

"Mmm." Gawain sat up a little straighter. "Well, that t-shirt should be illegal, first off, because I can see his veins pop underneath it. And jeans so tight you can see exactly what the man is packing, and it ain't small." Galahad snorted at this, delighted. "Long hair tied back, braided like he's a patron of Thorin Oakenshield’s hairdresser."

"Color?"

"Bronze and silver. Healthy. Soft fringe. And a close cut, very handsome beard. Nice mouth." He paused. "Really nice mouth. Straight nose, deep-set eyes. Dark. Gentle, for the hardness of him."

Tempted, Galahad peeked from behind heavy-lidded eyes. The alpha was perfectly still, except for his jaw working on the apple slice in his mouth. The Omega couldn't make out details without moving, so he relaxed again. “He seems a cat, so still but I feel l can see his tail twitching.”

Gawain smiled, relaxing next to his brother. "He's more a lion than a cat. But yes, he does have that feral look about him."

"Mmm. We'll see how long this one lasts." And he ran a gentle hand down the length of his own torso to settle on a hipbone. A shimmy of his knees shifted the pleats in his kilt until he was bare to mid-thigh. "He might make it one more time. But after that, he's going to give up like the rest. Watch and be amazed, little brother, at the short attention span of alphas who don't immediately get what they want."

***

Three weeks later, on Tuesday night, which was Alpha Night for Bondless, the best Omega club on the Eastern Seaboard, the alpha was still there, behind the glass. Being vetted for the club was no short process, and it didn't hold over from week to week either. So this one was getting printed, record-scanned, and searched every Tuesday morning, for three weeks running, just to catch a glimpse of Galahad lounging on a couch.

The club itself was the best in the business, as it should be, since it was Galahad's own. The best martial omega and beta security, separate and secure garages for omegas who clubbed there, and the vetting process for alphas were all part of the service. And on Alpha night, it was rare for an omega to buy their own drink, even with the $100 cover on the alpha side as processing fee. Galahad paid his staff well-- there were no bribes. Arthur, his alpha business partner, mated to the savvy omega CFO Lancelot, made sure that the integrity of the staff was unimpeachable through both generosity and continuous background checks. It had been wildly successful from the beginning, both as a safe haven for omegas who wanted freedom to dance in public, and for well-heeled alphas who wanted a controlled environment for conversation and maybe, hopefully more. 

Galahad made his way over to the bar. It was bisected with the same wall that ran the length of the club, separating the Alpha tank from the Omega lounge. He decided that three weeks should earn the alpha some small reward, so he glimpsed over, unsmiling but eyebrows raised in curious interest. The alpha shadowed him to the bar.

This was another test-- everything in Bondless was some sort of test or another. There were a whole array of traditional drinks, as well as more suggestive ones. Not just a Blowjob, but the Slick, the Knot Shot, and the Dripping Peach, Galahad's favorite of the typical alpha gambits (but not his favorite drink.) The Slick was made with Crème de Menthe stirred into a chocolate martini, and the Knot Shot was smoky peat-heavy whiskey with a dash of grenadine and citrus. He was curious what the alpha would order for him. He stood quietly, his body language open, and the alpha gave him a soft, gentle perusal. Galahad's eyes lowered demurely, a strange instinctive tell that didn't happen to him too often. When the alpha leaned forward to give his drink order, a frisson of interest shivered up Galahad's spine. He found himself hoping that the alpha didn't screw this one up.

Bors, the boisterous alpha bartender, raised his eyebrows as high as they would go, and then glanced at the Omega bartender, a strong and no-nonsense woman called Vanora who was also his wife. She grinned as she poured, keeping the drink hidden from Galahad until she turned and handed it to him. It was a simple rum daiquiri, made with the best Cuban rum they had on offer, sugar and a twist of fresh lime. "Unexpected," Vanora murmured to him, her eyes dancing.

Galahad contemplated the drink in his hand. A unique opening gambit indeed. The alpha had asked what his favorite drink was, and Bors had allowed him the honor. Galahad gave a sweet, genuine smile to the alpha, and raised his glass. "Cheers," he mouthed, and drank. The alpha smiled, a subtle upturning at the corners of his mouth, and then shyly turned and walked back into the shadows.

Galahad finished his drink alone, only Vanora's amusement to keep him company.

***

The omega was sorely tempted, over the course of the next week, to go through the Alpha vetting files to find out more about the alpha that had captured his attention. It wasn’t exactly ethical, but he was the owner so he figured he had the right to go through as many documents as he chose to, even though Arthur was in charge of that side of the business. Still, something stayed his hand, if not his curiosity. He decided that if the alpha came back, he would ask his name. Nothing but a first name, and that was harmless. It was probably Dave, or Bob, or something equally bland. Benny. Chad. Galahad scowled at himself. Not like it mattered. The alpha hadn't even looked at him after buying his drink. Maybe he was out of patience.

But the next Tuesday night, the alpha was right back at the glass, eating another apple with another plastic knife. Galahad was coming out of the back office when he spotted him, and a smile rose unbidden to his lips. He didn't correct the sway in his hips that sent his utilikilt swishing over his thighs as he walked right up to the glass wall next to the bar. The alpha stepped closer as well, after setting the apple down on the bar with the knife pressed into the green skin of it, until they were barely a foot apart. His eyes, Galahad could see now, were a warm cognac brown. The omega scratched at his beard, feeling bashful now that he could measure the alpha's shoulders against his own. They were nearly of a height, yet the alpha was broader and heavier with muscle. His biceps and forearms were bare and tanned, but Galahad could see that just under the sleeve of the shirt his skin was pale. Farmer's tan. So the muscle wasn't all glamour, but the result of heavy work. The thought of it made butterflies shiver deep in the basin of his hips.

He took a deep breath. The ventilation system prevented scent from passing through, and he suffered a tiny tinge of regret for his own thoroughness. "Thank you for the drink," he spoke into the intercom.

The alpha beamed at him, his uneven, pointed teeth unexpectedly charming. Rather than speak into the com, he tugged a small notepad out of his jeans pocket, and scratched out a note with a bar pencil, before pressing it to the glass. In messy, uncultured print, it read, _Thank you for accepting it._ Galahad ducked his head, looking up at the alpha through long lashes, and wondered what the hell had gotten into him. He heard his brother's laugh in his head, and rubbed his hand over his beard with chagrin. "May I ask your name?"

With a toothy grin, the alpha shook his head, braids falling loose from the mane of wavy hair that was tied at his nape. Galahad's smile faltered, and the alpha scratched another note on the same page of his little notebook. When he held it up to the glass, it read, "Next week." A laugh burst out of Galahad's chest, and he beamed at the alpha, delighted.

"This is payback for making you wait for three weeks?"

But the alpha gave a gentle shake of his head, his eyes dancing, and wrote one more line on the paper. "For flashing your thighs at me. I dropped my apple."

Even after his brother showed up and tugged him back into the dance, he found himself bursting into laughter for the rest of the night.

***

A week later, the omega spent more time on his grooming than he normally did. He trimmed his thick beard to a manageable length and worked a little product into glossy curls. The myth of omegas being effortlessly beautiful was as false as the myth of alphas being brainless muscle, but Galahad liked to think he was appealing to look at. Gawain certainly was, with his long sun-bright curls falling down to mid-back. Galahad had always been a little jealous of his little brother's effortless ease with all genders, charming and happy and legendarily promiscuous. He eschewed relationships for frequent and, frankly, annoyingly loud sex with anyone who he could coax into bed, and Galahad had grown to tolerate it, if not cheerfully, when he was kept up late by the pounding through the walls of their suites on the third floor of the building. Galahad didn’t often have sex, and his last relationship was the reason that Bondless had separate parking for omegas. He had a club to run, anyway, which took up a great deal of his time. He had priorities.

But this alpha, calm and patient and steady, had slowly made himself a priority. Although he didn't allow himself to think too hard on it, he found himself imagining touching the alpha's hand, and running his fingertips over the rough calluses there. So when he entered the club a little late, heart drumming with anticipation, he was deeply disappointed to find that the alpha was not waiting on the other side of the glass for him.

All night, he cast forlorn glances toward the wall. Other alphas stared at him openly, but he was perhaps overly demonstrative of his lack of interest. He ended the night sitting at the bar, nursing a daiquiri and scowling at Vanora, who didn’t bother hiding her concern. "I'm certain he would be here if he could, Gal," she told him flatly, polishing the gleaming chrome fixtures of the bar. "No sense in taking it as a rejection." He nodded, and grimaced at her, and drank until he felt foolish. The alpha wasn't coming, and he didn't even know his name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hullad means owl in Gaelic. I'm overwhelmed by the positive response this story is getting. I've never written A/B/O, thought i have read a _considerable_ amount, and I've never written Tristhad either (RPF doesn't count, right?), so your well-wishing means the WORLD to me. Thank you!!

"Tristan Hullad." Arthur smirked as he handed over the papers. "And I could be losing an excellent customer by allowing you to see this, Gal."

Galahad frowned at him, taking the papers in a firm grip. "He's only an excellent customer because of me. He'll forgive me or he won't. But I'm concerned about him."

Lance scratched a lazy hand through the thick hair at his nape. "This is a first, I think. Well, since that alpha we do not name." Arthur gave his husband a dire look, but Lance just shrugged with his eyebrows. "Ditch the abusive motherfucker, gain the best security system on the eastern seaboard. I still think you should have arranged an accident for that knothead, Gal."

Galahad gave him a weary look. "I still don't want to talk about it."

"It's been ten years."

"And he still doesn't want to talk about it." Arthur put a quelling hand on Lance's shoulder. Galahad stood up, handing the papers back, and Arthur shredded them into the wastebasket by the side of the desk. Sighing, Lance tapped into the city-wide search for police and hospitals on his tablet and entered in the name. It pinged immediately. Galahad leaned over the desk to read it, and then darted out of the room, not bothering to grab his jacket. Arthur peered at the locator with a frown. Galahad's missing alpha was at Central Hospital.

***

Tristan Hullad was the name printed on the whiteboard in the room, along with his injury (cracked fibula) and his medical notes (being kept overnight for observation.) The man himself was asleep in the narrow hospital bed, snoring softly. Beneath his short hospital gown, his lower left leg was encased in a splint and brace, and even with the dim blue light of the machines as his only illumination, Galahad could see the heavy bruising on his knee and lower thigh from whatever had fractured his bone. His face had a greyish cast, but his brow was smooth and his breathing easy. Galahad himself was sitting restlessly in an uncomfortable chair by the bed, wondering what the hell he would say to the alpha, to _Tristan_ , when he woke. Perhaps telling the alpha he smelled really good was a little crass, on top of everything else. Slipping into the quiet hall had been simple enough, and he was just deciding he was going to slip right back out rather than be caught in this mortifying, vulnerable position, when his movements made the chair squeak. The alpha's eyes snapped open and a strong hand was wrapped around his wrist before he could move. Frozen with chagrin, he stammered for a moment, before managing to force out, "You, um… you missed our date."

Tristan blinked sleep out of his eyes, shifting his hips to a more comfortable position. He sighed as he wiggled his shoulders back into the hard hospital bed, and gave Galahad a curious, tiny smile. "My horse decided, rather suddenly, that he did not want to be ridden." The shifting of his body allowed a blossoming of his scent, and Galahad's eyes fluttered closed, taking it in. Warm leather and the sharp bite of ozone, and something softer, like apple blossoms. It was lovely.

After too long a moment, he cleared his throat awkwardly. This was the entire opposite of the controlled environment of the club. There was no sashaying away from this now, with a cheeky glance over his shoulder. Although Galahad worked every day with alphas, this openness was causing him anxiety. His fault, of course, for running here without a single thought in his head as to what he was going to do when he got here. His addled brain latched upon something that seemed acceptable to talk about at last. "You work with horses?"

Tristan nodded, his eyes dark and glimmering. Galahad thought he looked amused. "Abused animals. Rescues. Birds, horses, and other wild things." His thumb stroked the inside of Galahad's arm as he said this. Galahad could not help his blush, but the darkness of the room hid the color of his cheeks, at least. Not the heat of his own scent, of course, and was it uncomfortably warm in here? 

"I. Um." Gods, what was he doing here? His eyes flitted frantically towards the door, almost hoping that the nurse would come and find him and kick him out. No such luck.

"You asked for my name." Those deep amber eyes were focused on him so acutely that Galahad felt that it might be impossible to move away, even if he were accosted by the night staff. He nodded, gave a dry swallow. "May I have the pleasure of knowing yours?"

"Galahad." His voice was small now, his boldness spent. 

"Galahad," Tristan repeated. He smiled, showing crooked teeth. "And you came to see if I was well."

"I was worried about you."

"I had no idea I had made such an impression on you." 

Galahad cleared his throat. "Bors likes you. The alpha bartender," he added in explanation.

"Hmm. Does Bors' opinion carry weight with you?"

Galahad grinned, picturing the boisterous alpha holding court behind the bar. "Sometimes. If he didn’t like you, he would have told you the wrong drink."

"I suppose I am fortunate then." He pursed his lips, thoughtful. "Your club's security is very tight. And yet, here you are in my hospital room, in the alpha wing, mind you, alone and in the middle of the night. It must have been a strong concern, to get you here."

An unaccustomed boldness, likely fueled by sheer mortification, caused Galahad to move his hand to the side of the bed near Tristan's belly, lightly. "Are you complaining? Because I can go…?" Tristan's grip tightened slightly. Galahad subsided back into his chair. "Would you like me to stay?"

Tristan grinned at him then, bright and happy. "I would."

***

They ended up talking for over an hour before the nurse came to check on Tristan. Galahad told him about his little brother, and about Bors and Vanora and their eight children (so far.) Tristan told him the story of the horse that had landed him in the hospital bed.

"People take on horses because of childhood fantasies, but then expect them to act like barbie horses, to be cared for or neglected at whim." The alpha sighed, his fingers now stroking over Galahad's delicate hand bones, resting on his stomach. Galahad was leaned close, absorbed in the story. "This one was kept in the dark, in filthy conditions, all but abandoned. I've been grooming and leading her on a lunge line for months." He grimaced in frustration. "Today, I decided that she was ready to hold my weight. Perhaps I was too bold?" 

Galahad gazed at him, a small grin dancing over his lips. "What made you so bold?"

Tristan eyed him skeptically, uncertain if he was being teased. The door behind them opened and a nurse entered with his tablet, and stopped short, surprised to find the room at double occupancy. "Visiting hours were over six hours ago, but… I'm guessing you knew that?" Galahad looked innocently up at him. The nurse frowned and checked the chart. "Although for mated pairs… there was no entry on the chart for a mate?" Galahad's cheeks flamed in heated embarrassment at the obvious mistake, and he tried to stammer out a reply, but Tristan got there first. 

"I am sorry. I didn’t think I would be held overnight for such a small injury." 

"I was just leaving," said Galahad just after. Tristan's hand tightened on his, and their eyes met in the dark. "I mean… you need your sleep," he finished lamely. Tristan's eyes carried all his concern, crystal clear without having to say a word. If Galahad left… But the omega continued, after only a moment of consideration. "Will you be at the rescue center tomorrow?"

"Perhaps the next day," the alpha said softly, as the nurse bustled around them, checking Tristan's bruising from the opposite side of the bed. "Will you…?"

Galahad found himself nodding. "I need to meet the horse that bested you, after all."

Tristan grinned. "I imagine that will give you great pleasure."


	3. Chapter 3

Two days later, Galahad found himself at the only animal rescue within fifty miles that dealt with horses, sitting anxiously in his bright red vintage Mustang in the parking lot of the large complex and finishing the last of his second coffee. Next to him, Gawain was licking his fingers clean of doughnut glaze and then scratching through his thick beard to dislodge any crumbs. The early morning sunlight glinted off the silver beads he had braided, dwarf-style, into his beard and hair. Galahad glanced over at him, both grateful and resentful of his presence. Gawain turned to him and grinned. "You look like you are about ready to turn and drive back to the city," he observed, not unkindly. Galahad snorted, rueful, and scratched his fingers through his hair. 

"He probably won't even be here." 

Gawain patted his arm. "Is that wishful thinking, because you are going to be disappointed." He pointed at a pristine honey-brown VW bus just pulling in across from them. In the driver's seat, Tristan was staring with wonder at Galahad through both windshields. Gawain shoved his shoulder, hard, and Galahad smacked against the driver's side door with a grunt, opening it in self-defense as he shot a scowl back at his brother. He tugged his utilikilt over his knees as he straightened up, feeling mildly nauseous. Gawain kicked his booted feet up on the leather dash of the car and pointedly thumbed open his phone, but Galahad could see him watching as Tristan climbed down awkwardly from the van, like he was gingerly dismounting a horse. Galahad roused himself at last and dashed over to see if he could be of use.

By the time he reached Tristan's side, the alpha already had one foot nearly on the ground, the other swinging as he carefully shifted his weight off the bench seat . Galahad, unthinking, pressed a hand to Tristan's hip to support him, and Tristan jumped in surprise, his cane clattering to the ground. Both of them flushed bright red, eyes meeting as they looked up from the cane on the ground. Galahad blushed even more at the soft look in Tristan's eyes, and then leaned down to pick it up and place it in Tristan's hand. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Tristan murmured, his voice even more gruff than it had been in the hospital. "It's a pleasure to be touched by you." Before Galahad could recover his voice, Tristan got the cane into his left hand and brought down his other leg, splinted heavily with a metal brace. He winced as his foot bumped over the running board, but managed to settle his weight on the cane and his good leg. He sighed in something like relief, and reached back in the van for his bag. Galahad, needing something to admire besides the alpha in front of him, gazed over the van. It was beautifully kept, cream and brown, with a long row of clean windows on each side. 

"This is gorgeous," he said. Tristan smiled at him, small and proud.

"I take it out camping. It's got a little bed in the back, and room for a stove and a small generator." Tristan shifted his eyes to the ground. "Not that you needed to know that there was a bed…" he muttered. Galahad stared at him a moment, and then a giggle escaped him, bubbling up from deep in his belly. And another.

"We are both really terrible at this, aren't we?" Tristan gave him a rueful nod, smiling for real now.

"Yes!" came the shout from his brother. Tristan's sharp eyes flicked over to Gawain , and then back to Galahad.

"You brought a chaperone?"

"He insisted. My brother Gawain," he said, and waved an introduction. Gawain waved back, already reabsorbed in his phone. Tristan took a step from the van, and another, until he was clear of the door; he shut it with a careful push until it clicked. They stood together then, not speaking, and Galahad felt that familiar mortification rise up as he could think of absolutely nothing at all to say.

"Is that a 1965 Fastback?" Tristan gestured towards the car, his eye admiring its lines. Galahad nodded, letting out a breath he had been keeping tight in his chest.

"It was my mother's. I earned it by learning how to fix it, every time it broke down."

Tristan beamed at him. There was no surprise or shock in his expression, that an omega would know how to fix a car. No disbelief or patronizing words. Just delight, and admiration, and Galahad felt a little bolder than he had before. He reached out, gently, to touch Tristan again, on his arm this time. "May I meet that horse now?" Tristan's head bowed gently downward, a moment only, and his eyes fluttered closed as he took a delicate and discreet inhale. Galahad took the chance to do the same. He breathed in the warm leather and apple scent of the alpha, deep into his lungs, and sighed out in muted pleasure. When he opened his eyes, Tristan was looking at him so fondly that he blushed all over again.

"I am glad you are here, Galahad." And he reached out his arm to stroke the curls away from Galahad's forehead, and tuck them behind his ear. 

"Me too," Galahad whispered back.

***

The horse that had gotten the best of Tristan was standing in the front paddock when they walked up to the stables together. She was white with brown patches and startling blue eyes, and she watched them nervously from her vantage point near the far end of the fence. Galahad could see the signs of abuse on her-- her coat was patchy and her mane and tail thin. On her forehead and nose, shiny patches of scar tissue told a sad story of too much rubbing against stall doors. But she was clean now, and stood strong on all four feet, and her coat gleamed where it was grown out. Someone had braided a blue ribbon the color of her eyes into her tail. 

With a confidence that Galahad was certain he would not be feeling, Tristan opened the gate and walked slowly across the paddock towards her, keeping the cane tucked close to his body. She kept an eye on him, but felt comfortable enough to munch on a mouthful of sweet timothy hay as she waited. Galahad could hear him speaking to her, in a soft, low voice that made the omega also want to lower his head and present the back of his neck to be scratched. Tristan stroked her for a long time, letting her nibble on the cane, and running his hands along her body. She did not shy from him, and Galahad could feel his relief from across the paddock. And then he turned at smiled at Galahad, and Galahad's heart thumped sharply against his ribs.

Eventually, Tristan must have felt content that he had not lost much ground with her, and he came limping back, grinning the whole time. A shout from the barn had both of them turning, and a burly young alpha was coming forward, smiling brightly. She reached the fence where Galahad stood at the same time as Tristan. "You old dog!" she said, enthusiastic. "I heard you broke both legs!"

Tristan ducked his head, snorting at the ground. "Dag, no. Only one, and that only a fracture." 

She eyed him with practiced concern, her eye taking inventory of him as she might a wounded animal. Galahad recognised the exact moment that her attention turned to him, because his hackles raised. And because Tristan took a step toward her, and it wasn't a friendly step. A clench of nerves in his stomach made him turn toward the car, unwilling to watch this happen. But then she spoke. "Hey. I'm sorry." He turned back to her, his eyes narrowed in discomfort. She took a step back, her hands held up in the air. "I really am. Sorry, Tristan."

Tristan sniffed at her, a twitch of his nose that could have been a snarl. "No need to apologize to me." He frowned. "Galahad came to see Molly." 

Dag turned away from them, presenting her back, and Galahad relaxed, slightly. She tucked herself into the fence and wrapped her arms around a post. "She's fine, Tris. I've been taking good care of her. I promise she won't slip far, and you can come back and break the other one if you like!" She eyed him, amused, and then turned to go. "Nice to meet you, Galahad," she said over her shoulder, and Galahad roused himself enough to wave at her. 

Only after she had disappeared back into the barn did Galahad realized how much tension Tristan was holding in his shoulders. He patted the alpha awkwardly on the shoulder blade, and Tristan turned to him, his stern expression turning a little sheepish. "I am sorry."

Galahad gave him a small smile, and was surprised to find it genuine. "I'm not accustomed to being postured over."

Tristan rubbed his bottom lip. "I have no claim on you," he murmured. "It was inappropriate." He shuffled his splinted leg and began to shift away from the fence. Galahad turned with him, bumping lightly into his shoulder.

"What would you call tracking you down at the hospital in the middle of the night?" Tristan snorted, his tension easing a bit more. "And then staying with you for hours? My hand on you?"

"Your hand on me…" Tristan repeated. "Your scent in my nose even after you left."

"Very inappropriate, wouldn't you say?" Galahad was grinning outright now, and as they walked side by side, Galahad's fingers tickled Tristan's fist until he opened his hand, and they threaded their fingers together.

"Very is quite a strong word," Tristan rejoined, and squeezed the warm hand in his. They walked like that all the way back to the car, where Gawain was asleep in the passenger's seat.

"Some chaperone," Galahad commented, but he didn’t look displeased. Tristan turned to him and swallowed, and Galahad could smell the sharp tang of nerves. It resonated through his body, ramping up his own adrenalin, and he took a breath to quell it.

"May I kiss you?" Tristan looked as if he could vibrate right out of his skin.

"If you don't we are going to have words," Galahad answered, flushing. Then Tristan's hand was in his hair, gripping tight, as he bent his head to take Galahad's mouth. Galahad leaned into him, his own hands finding their way under Tristan's arms to clutch at his lower back, pulling them together at the hips. Tristan moaned in delight, his tongue licking across Galahad's lips and inward, over his teeth and tongue. Galahad let loose the stress in his muscles, let himself relax into the arm that held him, and Tristan held him up for a moment, kissing him deep, until he wavered and lost his balance, leaning heavily into Galahad, who was not braced to take his weight. They toppled together onto the grass, Galahad taking the brunt of Tristan's weight with a grunt. Tristan groaned in pain, his hand still protecting Galahad's head. They lay on the ground for a long moment, forcing breath through stunned lungs, until Galahad started to giggle.

It took over him helplessly, until he was shaking, and Tristan was staring at him, unsure whether to laugh or to be mortified. And then Galahad gasped out, "Alpha, not here! It's really… inappropriate!" and suddenly Tristan was exploding with laughter, all tension leaking out of them both as they lay in each other's arms, laughing so hard they had to take great gasping breaths to fill their lungs. Galahad took Tristan's face between his hands and kissed him between giggles, taking breaths for both of them, and Tristan kissed him back, both hands now around his shoulders, his legs splayed wide over Galahad's. 

And then Galahad's hips moved upwards, gentle, and Tristan thrust down, once, twice, his teeth bared now and all laughter evaporated in the heat between them. 

"What the fuck are you two doing out in public?"

They jumped apart, Galahad turning with wide eyes and Tristan with a definite snarl. Gawain raised an eyebrow at the alpha, unimpressed. "I closed my eyes for five minutes!"

Galahad turned back to Tristan, and nuzzled into him for one more stolen moment, drinking in the scent of him. He sighed, and gazed up into the alpha's blown-dark eyes. Tristan smiled soft down at him, and then levered himself awkwardly up off the omega and onto his good leg, the cane once again in his hand. He reached down to offer a hand to Galahad, but he was already standing up, and brushing off his ass. For a long moment, they gazed at each other, and then Galahad reached out a hand to Tristan. "Come to the club tomorrow night? Don’t worry about the paperwork."

Tristan nodded at him, watching him fondly as he made his way back to the Mustang, climbing in the passenger side this time. Gawain gave him a smirk, but the alpha only had eyes for Galahad, and watched him until the car turned out of the lot and was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you a million times for your massive outpouring of support in this, my first stab at both Tristhad and A/B/O!!

Gawain drove with a competence that allowed Galahad to ease back into his seat, relaxing. He was still spinning from the kiss, smiling as he gazed out the window. It took his brother nearly five blocks to think of something to say.

"Do you need anything? I know you haven't had sex for ages."

Galahad swatted him. Gawain was grinning as he drove, laughter dancing in his eyes. "Seriously, it's nice to see you smiling, Gal." He paused. "But do you need anything? Artificial slick?"

Galahad grinned back. A laugh bubbled up inside of him, golden with joy. "I don’t think slick is going to be a problem."

***

Galahad spent the next day doing inventory and tax paperwork, and by the time the sun was going down, he was cross-eyed and irritated, but it was done. It was a good job too, or it would have to be. He could feel the sweat collect behind his ears and on the back of his neck and in the dip of his back. The thought of the alpha coming to him tonight was enough to make him leak a trickle of slick from between his cheeks, and he sighed, rubbing his fingers across his scalp. Timing. He thought he would have a few more days, but the kiss had done what nature could not. He was going into heat.

He stood up and stretched and debated the possibilities. He could tell Gawain to turn Tristan away at the door, and suffer through his heat, alone as always. He could go shower and take a blocker and try to make it through the night of drinks and conversation in the back room with the couches and fireplace, and then suffer through his heat alone as always.. Or…

Or he could invite Tristan upstairs and spend the next four days having sex. Judging from the kiss, really good, desperate, all-consuming sex.

He sighed and tidied up the office. He would take a shower, and then make a decision. 

***

His shower was interrupted, however, by his brother's voice yelling at him. He scrubbed through his hair one more time and shut off the water, hollering through the door, "What??"

Gawain's voice was right outside. "Your alpha is downstairs, Gal, and… do you just want me to tell him to go?"

Galahad could hear the uneasiness in his brother's voice. "What's wrong?"

His brother opened the door and threw pants at him, and then walked back towards the door. "I think he's in pre-rut, Gal, but he said he didn't want to disappear on you again. And I can tell you're hitting your heat." His brother tugged at his long blond braids. "Which is fine, but.. also its fine if you want me to tell him to take a hike."

Galahad took a deep breath as he tugged on his most worn and comfortable utilikilt over his damp skin. He ran a towel over his curls before giving it up as a bad job. It wasn’t going to matter anyway, one way or the other. Absently, he pulled on a t-shirt and walked towards the door, barefoot, all thoughts of impressing Tristan with his edgy fashion sense forgotten. "Let me talk to him."

He took the elevator down; it opened right into the back hallway that led to the mixed lounge, which was not a public place but rather a cozy space for all of them to relax and hold meetings with beer readily available. Galahad scented him before he saw him, the dizzying warmth of leather and horses and sweet apple blossoms pulling another, heavier trickle of slick from his hole. He realized too late that he had on no underwear, and that it wasn’t going to take long in Tristan's presence for the sheen of slick to gleam on his thighs and the backs of his knees. It was alright though-- he had made his decision in the elevator, likely had made it last night as he stroked himself to a sharp and unsatisfying orgasm with Tristan's name clenched between his teeth. Now it was Tristan's decision to make.

The alpha was standing near the empty fireplace, his eyes lost but his nostrils flaring. He was dressed simply, as if he too realized it wouldn’t matter, in a black t-shirt and loose pants that covered the splint. Galahad noted that Bors was also in the room, just behind the bar. Bors raised his eyebrows at Galahad as he came in, and Gal nodded to him. "We’re good, Bors."

Tristan turned slowly, allowing Bors a moment to narrow his eyes and stay firmly in place, though he turned and began cleaning already clean glassware. Galahad stopped several feet away from Tristan, eyes on him, steady and unafraid. Tristan swallowed, clearly less certain. "Your brother indicated that you might not want to see me," he offered gruffly. "But I wanted to hear it from you."

"You are going into rut?" It was a very personal question, but a necessary one. 

Tristan nodded. "One kiss from you is all it took." Galahad couldn't help it-- he beamed at the alpha, feeling both proud and extremely aroused.

"Same. I still had a few weeks on the calendar."

Tristan nodded and swallowed. "Do you want me to go?" Heat sex was one thing, but adding a rut to the mix made everything a bit more… intense. Galahad had only second-hand information on the phenomenon-- his cycle had never matched up in his previous relationship-- a sign he should have read with more clarity. But now. He studied the alpha in front of him. Tristan was standing very still, as if afraid to move, his body still turned partially away. But Galahad could see the tremor in the hand that gripped the cane. 

"I want you to stay. With me." He swallowed at the admission. "Do you want to stay with me?"

Tristan's eyes took on a shade of desire and desperation that made Galahad want to take a step forward. He clenched his muscles, feeling his slick leak steadily down the backs of his legs, tickling in his hair. Tristan took a single step forward. "More than anything."

Galahad smiled so brightly he felt his skin stretch over his cheeks. "For my entire heat?"

"Until you ask me to leave, Galahad. And for every moment up until that moment." Tristan was smiling too, hesitant and still ready to be sent away, made of honor to the tips of his braids. Galahad reached out his hand and beckoned. 

"Gods, come on then, Tristan. I'm going to make a puddle on the floor here if we don’t get upstairs right this minute."

Bors groaned with feigned disgust, but Galahad barely heard him, because Tristan was walking forward and taking his hand. Sweaty and hot, he clenched their fingers together. Galahad tugged him forward, all but dragging him to the elevator, barely making accommodation for the limping alpha. He had to wipe his hand twice on his kilt before the hand scan would take, and he didn’t bother wiping the screen clean after. Bors could do that. 

The enclosed space of the elevator swirled with their mixed scents, and Galahad took a long moment to breath it in. "Gods, Tristan, you smell so fucking good. So fucking good." Tristan shuffled him up against the elevator wall and sank his nose into the crease of Galahad's neck, inhaling with a groan that was the single most erotic sound Galahad had ever heard. Tristan dragged his lips over the sweet, hot skin, licking against Galahad's scent glands until he bloomed with a near paralyzing desire to feel Tristan's teeth on him. Though the archaic and brutal practice of biting was no longer in fashion, in a dizzying moment Galahad could understand why some people still allowed it. He arched into Tristan, neck exposed, and panted out his arousal.

The door opened on Gawain standing in the hallway, frowning. Galahad grinned at him, his cheeks burning hot. Gawain blushed-- actually _blushed_ \-- and physically steeled himself to speak. "Is this what both of you want?"

Tristan lifted his nose from Galahad's neck to fix the young omega with clear eyes. Galahad nodded, taking in his brother's tense stance. He broke from Tristan to hug his brother, hard, and whispered in his ear. "I love you, Gawain, but if you don’t get out of my way I will never let you drive the Mustang ever again." Gawain snorted, and then shoved him off.

"You stink. And you're dripping on the floor." He turned and walked down the hall to the door of his apartment, but even in the haze of his arousal, Galahad noted that Gawain didn't go inside until he and Tristan slipped through the door.

Immediately, Tristan pressed him up against the cold steel of the door and dove back into his neck. He breathed in deeply, lips kissing and sucking. "I thought you smelled of honey, in my hospital room," he murmured. "Honey, and woodsmoke, and salt sweat." Galahad shivered as he licked, nipping at his earlobe. Galahad's hands clenched on Tristan's hips, gently and thoughtlessly rocking against his own. A strong hand rucked up his kilt, smoothing over the firm muscle of his ass, and dipped into the crease, rubbing teasingly. Tristan leaned back from him, and pressed his slick-coated fingers to his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut as he tasted, and Galahad could feel himself dribbling down his legs. The bed was going to be a total loss, and maybe the carpet too, and he didn’t even care. 

"Tristan, take me to bed or I'm going to climb you right here and I don’t think your fibula will take the strain."

Tristan opened his eyes, gave a final lick to his fingertips, and grinned. "What will we do about that, pup?"

"Oh, I have a few ideas." Galahad took his hand, shivery with want, and led him slowly across the great room to the bedroom beyond. Tristan was still relying heavily on his cane, and Galahad realized that he was not going to be able to put any weight on that leg. He led Tristan to the bed, and gave him a push, and the alpha willingly got on his back, dropping the cane to the side and stretching his long, strong limbs across the bed, propping his head up on the thick pillows. He watched with soft, half-masted eyes as Galahad undid the button and fly of his pants and carefully tugged them down, tracing fingertips over Tristan's swelling cock, and lower, pulling off his socks and shoes with care. The splint was clasped tightly on Tristan's left leg, the bruising a livid yellow and purple now. Galahad winced in sympathy. "Is this alright?"

Tristan smiled at him. "It's alright, Galahad. I'm alright. I'm here with you."

Galahad flushed at the adoration in his face and voice, and reached up to carefully remove his boxer briefs, exposing first the purpling head and then the thick heavy shaft of his erection. His mouth watered at the sight of it. "You. Can I taste you? Please let me taste you?" Tristan's mouth opened, his pupils blown wide, and he nodded, shifting his hips in encouragement.

Gingerly, Galahad climbed up over him, dragging his ass over Tristan's bare legs and wiping slick up his skin. He settled his ass crack against Tristan's uninjured shin, and rocked once, twice, stuttering on a moan at the feel of the firm bone beneath him. Tristan clutched at his hair, whining as he panted, and tugged at the t-shirt until Galahad shimmied his shoulders and wriggled out of it. And then Galahad's mouth was at the alpha's exposed cockhead, and he could not wait a moment longer.

His lips sank slowly, just feeling the weight and heat of it for a long moment. The delicate foreskin rippled under his lips as he sucked, so gently that it was torture for both of them. Tristan moaned and shifted under him as he licked over the head, lipping at the swollen glans and dripping saliva down the shaft. Licking into the leaking slit, Galahad smiled at the taste of apples on his tongue. He sank further, gripping the heavy shaft and loose knot pouch with one hand, stroking up as he sank down, over and over again, his lips pressing a little further with each dip of his head. With his other hand, he rolled the alpha's heavy balls between his fingers, pleased to feel the strangeness of them, soft and hairy, the skin wrinkled. Omegas did not have such things, and Galahad was entranced by the feel of them. 

Tristan's hands were on him, stroking and clenching, but not once did he force Galahad's head down. Galahad would admire the bruises pressed into his shoulders later, but now he used the leverage to push down as far as he could go, swirling his mouth around Tristan's prick until the taste of him was in the back of his throat, and squeezing the knot pouch hard as it began to firm under his palm.

Tristan's hips began to shake with the effort of keeping still, and a litany of pleading and various forms of Galahad's and deities' name spilled from his lips. Galahad pressed down hard with his hips against Tristan's shin, swaying in a shaky figure eight as he sucked. His gut clenched with the first warning of orgasm, and he lifted off, pulling his mouth off Tristan with a final wet lick. Tristan was gasping under him, and his hands were pressing into Galahad's chest as he stretched upwards to claim his mouth in a deep, frantic kiss. Galahad took the opportunity to shove his hands under Tristan's shirt, pushing it up and over Tristan's head. Once free, Tristan embraced him, wrapping powerful arms around him, and kissed him like he was going to die if he didn't. 

They kissed slow and deep and wet, Tristan speaking words of adoration and praise into his lips and cheeks. Then he broke, and shifted Galahad bodily, flipping up his kilt so that Galahad's ass was against Tristan's mouth, and Galahad's mouth was perfectly aligned to take Tristan as deep as he was able. But before Galahad could sink down again, Tristan began to lick at his hole, hot and firm and perfect. His strong thumb pressed hard against Galahad's perineum, and the alpha's long fingers scratched the thick hair the base of his cock. Galahad moaned, and moaned again, his mouth just on Tristan's glans, sending vibrations through the alpha's cock as Tristan made a shivering, shaking mess of him with his tongue and his fingers. 

Tristan licked deep, not shy at all, his tongue pressing past the loosening ring of Galahad's hole with an enthusiasm Galahad had never experienced. He cried and writhed and Tristan's other hand held him firmly by the hip. As he slurped through slick with his lips and tongue, he murmured, "So good, Galahad. So beautiful; taste so good, so good, fuck, yes gods…" Galahad could feel his orgasm rushing up, spiraling like a corkscrew at the base of his spine. Then Tristan plunged a finger in and rubbed the edges of his prostate as he thumbed hard against his perineum, and Galahad screamed as he shook apart, orgasm ripping through his flesh and bone and mind, and he was gushing come from his untouched cock, the clear sweet liquid splashing all over Tristan's chest and belly as Galahad wailed through it, overcome and entirely undone.

Galahad came to his senses with his ass in the air, Tristan setting soft bites and sucking kisses to it. He shakily licked across Tristan's cock, and was rewarded with a sharp bite. He turned and found Tristan's eyes-- the alpha's mouth was showing all his teeth, but the corners of his lips were turned up in a smile and his eyes were dancing. "I've never seen anyone come like that," he said, his voice barely over a whisper, awestruck. 

"I've never come like that with anyone," Galahad admitted. He turned slowly, wanting Tristan to keep biting his ass but also wanting to sink down on the thick heavy cock presented to him more than anything he had ever wanted in his life. His eyes roved over Tristan's broad, heavily furred chest. The sweet liquid omega come dripped in rivulets through the alpha's curls, pooling in the bowl of his hips. He smiled, overcome with delight, and Tristan smiled back at him, rubbing his fingers through his chest and licking the tips. 

"You taste so sweet. I want to devour you, Galahad."

Galahad arched an eyebrow at him. "I think you already did." He leaned in to press a hot, needy kiss to Tristan's lips, and with a switch of his hips, he settled over the head of Tristan's cock. "Ready?"

In answer, Tristan reached and gripped the base of his cock, holding it still and firm for Galahad to sink down on. Galahad straightened his spine, groaning as he leaked slick all down into Tristan's thick pubic hair and across his balls. He slid down, and up again, his slick ass mirroring his mouth as he took Tristan slowly in, a little further each time, until he was so full he could barely think of stretching further. Tristan's strong hands were now pressing bruises into his hips, and he swayed and circled as he sank down, using the weight of his torso as leverage until he was fully, entirely seated. The feeling of Tristan inside of him was astonishing-- beyond anything, becoming everything. He sat for the space of several breaths, the alpha under him betraying his desperation only with his panting and his strong grip on Galahad's hips.

And then Galahad took a deep breath, and began to move.

Tristan had showed astonishing control until now, in full rut with an omega in heat on top of him. Galahad could see the threads of his control snapping now, the veins popping in his arms and chest and neck. His face was twisted in agony, and Galahad leaned low over him, his own heart thundering, and whispered, "Fuck me, alpha, please!" 

Tristan came undone all at once, like a breaking storm. With a full body shudder, the alpha growled and snapped and lifted his working knee to shove upward, hard. Galahad rode the power of him with great, high-pitched cries, as Tristan drove into him from below, again and again, entirely lost to the heat and wet and scent of him, the rut taking him fully as Galahad shoved downward, his hands falling to grip Tristan's arms and pull tighter as Tristan used the leverage of his hips to keep Galahad centered as much as he could manage. Tristan's cockhead was stroking Galahad's prostate with every upward rut, and Galahad barely managed to get a hand around his own cock before he was gushing come all over the alpha again, the force of it spraying up into Tristan's beard and over his cheeks. Tristan licked at his lips as he thrust, not letting go of Galahad, his eyes squeezed shut as his orgasm began to shake through him like a tremor, like an earthquake under Galahad's thighs.

Galahad forced his ass down with all his strength, and Tristan pushed up until his knot squeezed past Galahad's hole, and he roared out his climax until Galahad's ears rang with it, his own screams joining as his body shook and raged through a third orgasm. 

Stunned with the force of it, Galahad collapsed in exhaustion against the hot, heaving chest of his alpha, luxuriating in arms coming around him to hold him close as kisses were pressed into every bit of skin Tristan could reach. Tristan was purring beneath him, and he was surprised, after a moment’s daze, to find that he was purring back. He stretched his legs one at a time, entirely contented, as he lifted his head to his alpha to give him a blissful smile. Tristan rubbed his back, and kissed his forehead, rumbling the entire time as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

Eventually, Galahad sat up and turned himself halfway round, squeezing another fluttering orgasm out of Tristan as he did so, and lay back down, his sweaty back pressed against Tristan's damp chest. Tristan held him close, kissing the back of his neck and his ears, still nonverbal. They would be locked together for a while now, sated and dozing, before Tristan would find his voice again. Galahad nestled into him. "You are entirely wonderful, Tristan," he said softly, and Tristan kissed him, and kissed him again, and like that, they fell asleep.

***

Galahad was roused in the morning to Tristan’s teeth pressing into his shoulder as he trembled and writhed with the effort of not breaching Galahad’s body. Galahad sighed and reached back to grip Tristan’s hips, tugging him close as he spread open his thighs. His body was thrumming with desire, overwhelmed at the scent and pressure of his mate… _his mate_ at his back. Tristan slipped inside him with no resistance, mouthing at the join of his neck and shoulder, purring with deep contentment. Galahad spurted luxuriously all over his belly and thighs and the sheets as Tristan knotted him lazily, hands flexing against his chest to draw him ever closer. 

They woke like that, joined and sated, with the sun a little further on in its path across the wall, to a hammering at the door. Eventually, grudgingly, Tristan slid out of Galahad’s body and padded naked to the door, opening it to the peril of anyone in the hall. Instead of a person, there was a huge basket that smelled deliciously of Thai, the hot containers of noodles and peanut chicken surrounded by a dozen bottles of water, protein bars, fruit, and easily a pound of beef and venison jerky. 

On top was a note that read, "Keep it the fuck down, you assholes."


End file.
